Tidehollow Tale
by Andjuzane
Summary: Short story about Salvage Slasher. The artwork caught my eyes and sparked my mind.


**Another little one shot based on the artwork for Salvage Slasher. Man that card's awesome looking. Playability is meh, but the detail... Enjoy.**

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Rain pattered along the alley's tile roofs, merging into streams that slithered down rusted gutters and out onto the street below. Large puddles had gathered in any dip available, their surfaces in constant turmoil from the barrage of droplets. For a moment, the sound of falling rain conquered the area, tinkling off the many metal surfaces. The tranquility was ripped away as a man barreled in from the main street, splashing through the puddles and stirring their contents into a blur.

He was an older man, dressed in fine silks and glittering jewelry. He could have passed as a nobleman on any world if it wasn't for his arms. Bared to the world, they were a fine amalgam of burnished and shining metal shaped into an elegant lattice work from his shoulder to his wrists. His hands of flesh were clenched tight, knuckles white, as he tried to distance himself from his follower.

The man continued to run, not bothering to worry about the slime that graced the bottoms of his once flawless robes. His breathing was labored, not used to such physical activity. Several turns later he was forced to a stop by his physical weakness. Gasping for breath, he leaned against the alleys side wall, listening for any sign of his pursuer in the small shower. To his relief he didn't hear anything that would be considered alarming. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting the droplets pelt his face. He was completely unaware of the figure crouched on the roof above him.

He could have been a runner, his form was lithe yet well muscled. From neck to toe he was covered in hardened leathers and metal plating, leaving all vulnerable spots covered as effectively possible. He wore a mask that covered from the bridge of his nose down his neck, and his black half mohawk was plastered to the left side of his face. Like the older man below, one of his own arms was replaced with a metal substitute. Unlike the elegant artwork his counterpart wore, the stalker's was jagged with an array of metals cobbled together in a frightening collage.

The Tidehollow ripper tilted his head to the side, studying his quarry with a disturbing intensity. There was only one thought running through his twisted mind as he watched the panting creature. The easiest kill. From above would be the most effective, landing on his balding head with an iron clad heel. Unconsciousness would come immediately, leaving the slit throat to his leisure. With a crack of the neck the armored assailant stood up and jumped over the ledge, aiming his right foot straight down. Gravity took the flesh and metal man into its arms and sped him like a stone from a sling. Unfortunately, chance has some of the most inopportune timing. Just before impact, the old man had shifted to the side leaving the speeding assassin to slam into the gap between his shoulder and neck.

The crunch was audible, even over the old man's scream of pain and surprise. With practiced ease the ripper kicked forward and went into a roll, standing up across the narrow alley and turning toward his quarry. There was hate in his eyes, a burning fire that threatened to turn anything in its path to ash. The old man's legs had buckled from the blow, and he clutched his broken collar while whimpering in pain. He looked up to the masked killer, fear covering his features.

"P-p-please..." he stuttered. "Don't kill me.. I-I can get you anything! What do you want? Money? Etherium? Name it! I-" he was cut short by a metal toed boot colliding with the side of his face. Flecks of blood and chips of teeth sputtered from his mouth. He wailed in pain and recoiled back, trying to crawl away from the armored madman. He made it only a foot before his back hit the alley wall.

"WHY ME! WHAT DID I DO?" He yelled, outraged and spitting blood. "I'VE DONE NOTHING TO DESERVE THIS!"

The assailant narrowed his eyes at this stepping up and kneeling in front of the injured elder until they were eye to eye. With slow movements he reached up with his flesh hand and pulled down the mask. The old man gasped. The entirety of the rippers lower jaw was gone, replaced by metal shaped into a crude replica of what it once was. There was no bottom covering, leaving the view of the filled points open to the public.

" You claim to have done nothing to deserve this? Such filthy lies. Let me tell you a story of a young girl, one that had made her way out of Tidehollow with her looks and sheer will. She had found a job working for a noble. The pay was small, and the work was hard, but any job was better than life as a whore, or worse, a filthy scrapper." He took a shuddering breath, clenching his fake and real teeth together.

"Then one day, she overhears a talk between the boss and his followers, someone had been 'taken care of', and that it was important that not a soul should know." The elder man's eyes grew wide as he listened, his face losing any remaining color. " Sadly, they found her right outside the door, and of course they panicked. Though she vowed her silence, it didn't stop them from beating her mercilessly. No matter how she pleaded, no matter how many times she yelled for them to stop, they just. Kept. Beating her..." he trailed off staring at the injured man in front of him. "I..I-"

"QUIET!" Screamed the ripper as he pulled a serrated blade from behind his back and plunged it into the nobles thigh. He screamed once more in agony, reaching for the metal weapon in his leg. His arms were batted away, and sharp, metallic fingers wrapped around his throat. With his flesh hand the assassin twisted the blade, tearing deeper into the wound. "After a while, the yelling stopped... the pleas for help stopped... her LIFE stopped!" At each mention of the word stop his fingers tightened, cutting off more and more air.

"So they panicked, and in the dead of night they threw the body in the Copperwind... but how could they know that all sewers lead back to Tidehollow..." the old man's face was turning blue, his soft, weak hands scrabbling against the metal one that held him. "Imagine my surprise, when I was out with the gang picking through bodies, and I find none other than my own sister added to the list of dead..."

The nobleman's eyes bulged, he knew there was no bargaining, no way to buy himself out, he was going to die. He thrashed and tried to scream for any help, but the death grip on his windpipe barely left enough air to keep him conscious. At the new signs of struggle the ripper pulled the dagger from his leg, shredding as much muscle as possible on its way out. He sheathed it and put the flesh hand on his injured shoulder, squeezing sharply as he did. He stared him in the eye and began talking once more.

"I vowed to kill those that would take what's mine...And now... I have..." The vengeance driven killer released his grip on the old man's throat for an instant, allowing for one full breath, before he dug his sharpened fingers behind the trachea and ripped back. A shower of blood followed, coating the young killer in a speckled coat of crimson. It mixed and mingled with the steady rain, pooling around his feet. His eyes never left the noble's face, and he watched as the last trace of life drained from his eyes. He turned away from the scene and looked to the sky, droplets falling down his flesh and metal jaw line.

"Sorry sis... Wish I could have done more..." The only reply came from the steady plink of rain.


End file.
